


Friends in Low Places

by Cinaed



Category: CSI: Las Vegas
Genre: Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Friendship, Het, M/M, One of My Favorites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-31
Updated: 2006-05-31
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To this day, David isn't sure how he ended up with three total strangers as drinking buddies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friends in Low Places

**Author's Note:**

> My first David/Greg fic! Ah, memories.

To this day, David isn't sure how he ended up with three total strangers as drinking buddies. He vaguely suspects a tipsy Annie tried to hit on him (though they'll both deny it to their dying days), and that Benny was whining into his drink about his latest break-up so loudly that David told him to be quiet and suck it up, and then somehow he and Annie ended up listening to Benny's tale of woe anyway (and Annie giving Benny a sympathetic pat on the shoulder). He has absolutely _no_ clue how he met Carl. David suspects that he was particularly drunk at the time, and so didn't have the sense to protest when Annie invited Carl to sit with them. 

Still, the fact remains that David _does_ have a trio of drinking buddies, and has since about his fourth month in Vegas. They meet every Friday night to discuss (well, whine about) their week. They are all creatures of habit -- Annie always has Long Island Iced Tea, Benny has Pina Coladas, and Carl has Amaretto Sours. David is the only one who varies, and even then it is only that he has virgin daiquiris when he has to go to work afterwards and Black Russians when he has the night off. 

Each Friday night is pretty much the same. Annie sips at her drink and quietly tells them the latest insult her live-in boyfriend has tossed her way and the rest of the group belittles the bastard until Annie giggles and her self-esteem is restored. Benny bemoans the fact that he can only find girls who want a one-night stand; after a few minutes of suffering through this David informs him that he needs to stop moping -- one-night stands are better than being celibate. Carl glowers into his alcohol and wonders aloud why his wife has been kicking him to the couch no matter what he says or does, and it's generally Benny who gives him a sympathetic pat on the back. 

(David often wonders how long it will take for Annie to break up with her loser boyfriend, Benny to give up on random girls he's just met, and for those two to finally get their act together and date each other. He also wonders how long it will take for Carl to realize his wife's a lesbian.) 

The rest of the night involves random conversations -- about their jobs, friends, families -- and David often regales them with tales of the graveyard shift, although Carl usually complains that David gets too macabre. And then towards the end of the night at least _one_ of the group always tries to get David to talk about whoever he's pining over, and that's when David takes his leave, whether to head to his beloved trace lab or the safety of his apartment. 

That's how his Friday nights always go, and David likes it that way. He listens to his drinking buddies' issues, tells them when they're being stupid or agrees with them when someone else is being idiotic, and keeps his own pathetic story of unrequited love to himself. It's not that he doesn't think the group won't sympathize; it's the fact that he knows they _will_, and that their compassionate looks, Friday after Friday, will drive him crazy. He gets enough of those sympathetic looks from Jacqui and Bobby, thank you very much. 

Every Friday is the same -- mankind is obsessed with repetition, after all, and these three men and single woman are no exception. The only variable is the discussions they have. David finds that he likes the ritualized encounters; it creates an oasis among the chaos that is otherwise his life. 

Needless to say, he is not amused when his oasis is disrupted and chaos seeps into his Friday night. 

 

*

 

"Pick your poison," the bartender informs him cheerfully as he drops onto the stool next to Benny. 

  
David glowers back, despising her bright smile. "Black--" he falters, belatedly remembering he has to go to work (unlike two other CSIs who will remain nameless for the sake of David's sanity). He curses his luck. He so badly _needs_ a drink.... Still, after a moment, he mutters, "Strawberry daiquiri, virgin." Ignoring the concerned looks the other three are directing his way, he drums an agitated beat on the counter. With any luck, the person making his daiquiri will be lazy and won't have washed out the machine, so he'll at least be able to taste a hint of alcohol and still be able to swear to Grissom all he had was a virgin daiquiri. 

But of course he has no such luck. There is not even a _trace_ of alcohol in his daiquiri; he mutters a choice word or two about neurotic people who ruin good virgin daiquiris by actually making them virgin. 

"David?" Carl is a high school counselor, and has the low, soothing voice that suits his profession. Right now, he's directing that gentle voice at David. "Are you okay? You seem..."

"Irritable," Annie inserts helpfully when Carl trails off, and shoots him a smile that probably wins over the kindergartners she teaches but one that doesn't win over David.

"More so than usual, anyway," Benny finishes with a grin and a light elbow jab. He's unusually cheerful for a Friday night, David notes. His latest girl must have agreed to a second date. "Spill." 

"Breaking with tradition, are we?" David snaps, and inwardly winces at his testy tone. Now they know he's upset, and they'll badger him for the rest of the night--

"Yes, we are," Annie says, and all three proceed to stare at David as though he is suddenly the most fascinating thing they've ever seen (although dishtowels have to be more interesting). 

He decides to ignore them. Eventually one of them will get bored and start in on a rant about their shit week. And so he sits and drinks his all-too-virgin daiquiri and waits for one of them to break. It's twenty minutes of silence before David finally knuckles under with a snarled, "Has anyone told you three how _annoying_ you are?" He glares at their smiles of satisfaction. 

"So," says Benny, musing aloud, "this must be about your unrequited crush." 

"Ooh, did you finally go for it?" Annie frowns. "Did he turn you down?" 

David grimaces, not for the first time wishing he hadn't had that last shot of vodka a year ago which had led to him staring a bit too long at a particularly attractive bartender and the group discovering his preference. "No, it isn't, and no, I did not," he snaps, glaring at them both. 

Carl studies him, and David focuses his glare upon the man, wishing he has the ability to kill someone with a look of hatred. Carl is the smartest of the trio, albeit oblivious to his wife's utter lack of heterosexuality, and he is the one that David is wariest of. "It _is_ about his crush," Carl announces after a moment, leaning back on his stool with a self-satisfied smile. "But he didn't strike out." 

Benny raises an eyebrow. "Then what happened?" 

"Maybe his crush showed interest in someone else?" Annie offers, and then blinks in surprise as David inadvertently winces. "Hey, I got it right!" She turns to high-five Benny, and David wonders if he can borrow one of Bobby's guns (he just has to figure out if he's going to commit a triple homicide or a suicide or both). 

"Now that you're done celebrating, can we change the subject?" he mutters, and orders another virgin daiquiri (maybe this time there will be a lovely aftertaste of alcohol). "I would prefer to sulk, not regale you all with tales of my utter hopelessness." 

Benny frowns and nudges him with his elbow. Again. "C'mon, David, there are other fish in the sea. Besides, what's so great about _this_ guy? If he can't see how...uh, unique and interesting of a catch you are...then he doesn't deserve you." 

"Unique and interesting of a catch?" David echoes, and laughs bitterly, taking a sip of his newest glass and finding it also a perfectly virgin daiquiri (this just isn't his night). "I think you've just answered the question of why I'm hopeless. And if you use any more crappy euphemisms, I'm kicking you out of the bar. Fish in the sea, good God...." 

At least Benny has the grace to look sheepish, but after a moment juts out his chin and says defiantly, "I still think you deserve someone better." 

"There _is_ no one better," David snaps irritably, and really, he should be able to stop the words from tumbling out when he hasn't had a drop of alcohol. But they come anyway, propelled by exasperation and a desperate need for said-unobtainable-alcohol, and filled with so much venom that the words are probably more poisonous than a coral snake's bite. "He's smart, though you wouldn't know it from his spelling. He can quip with the best of them -- well, as long as he's got some caffeine in his system, and he's _good_ at his job--" 

"Wait, wait, wait," Annie interrupts. Her eyes are ridiculously large in her face as she stares at him. "The bad spelling guy?" 

"'Funtain' Boy is your crush?" Benny says in abject disbelief. "The one with the spiked hair and goofy clothes?" 

Carl looks just as shocked as the other two, blinking and looking suspiciously at his Amaretto Sour as though he suspects someone has slipped him a hallucinogenic. "The one with the addiction to Blue Hawaiian?" 

Crap. How does David find drinking buddies who are as clever as CSIs? He makes a mental note to get some new drinking buddies as soon as possible -- ones with memories like_goldfish_ -- and scowls at the three he's currently stuck with. "Yes, yes, and yes," he says angrily, and then rolls his eyes. "Look, he's straight, so the whole situation is no one's fault but my own. It was my own stupidity for falling for someone so obviously unobtainable." He slumps in his seat, and pushes the daiquiri away, its lack of alcohol mocking him.

And _there_ are the sympathetic looks he's been dreading, and he resists the urge to yank his hand away when Annie leans over to squeeze it. 

"Let me guess, he's on a date?" Benny says after a moment. 

David grimaces. He'd learned about it from Greg himself, earlier in the week. The other man had come bounding into the trace lab, a goofy grin on his face, and declared, triumph in his voice, that Sara had finally given into the inevitable and was going to go out with him that Friday. His grimace deepens at the memory, and he spits out, "With _Sidle_, of all people." 

Carl frowns. "Isn't that the woman who's obsessed with your supervisor?" (Again, David really must get drinking buddies with bad memories.) 

Annie tilts her head, and adds, "And your arch rival in the lab aside from the other trace tech?" When he just glowers, she winces. "Ouch." 

"She's probably just using him," he grouses. "Trying to make Grissom jealous." And Greg deserves better than that. Hell, if he doesn't think Wendy would kill him for the idea, he would claim they would be a better couple than Greg and Sidle. 

"Look, David," Carl begins, using his high school counselor voice, and David feels himself snap. He's been free of high school for twenty years, damn it, and Carl is _not_ going to use his counselor voice on him. 

"Look, _Carl,_ since we've apparently crossed the no-boundaries line, I've got a few things I've been dying to say." He fairly leaps off his stool, glaring at the nonplussed trio. "You two!" David jabs a finger at Annie and Benny. "Annie, your boyfriend's a scumbag, lose him. Benny, you suck at finding women. You," and his finger swings between the two, "need to get your heads out of your asses and get together already. Annie is obviously good at commitment (to the point of stupidity, in fact), but she needs a respectable guy. Benny needs a woman who'll stick with him longer than three dates, and he'll never disrespect Annie, or I'll make him suffer. Therefore, your relationship will work. And _you_!"

"Me?" Carl says weakly, shrinking in his seat as though David is pointing a loaded gun at him. 

"Yes, you! Your wife is a _lesbian,_ you idiot. She's probably cheating on you during those 'business trips' of hers. You better have a pre-nup with an adultery clause, or else you deserve the screwing you're going to get. Get a private detective and a lawyer, file for divorce, and find a straight woman to marry next time!" He finally runs out of steam, and stands there, catching his breath, as Annie, Benny, and Carl gawk at him. 

After a moment, Carl swallows and echoes, "A lesbian?" and Benny lets out an anxious half-chortle that sounds like a donkey baying as Annie turns bright red and buries her face in her hands. 

David tosses a few bills on the counter to pay for his daiquiris and storms from the bar, cursing under his breath when he realizes he's going to be fifteen minutes late to work. Grissom will flay him alive. (If only he were so lucky.) 

 

*

 

David gets through the next week by the skin of his teeth. He manages to block out Greg's rambling about his date with Sidle, mostly by making noncommittal noises whenever Sidle's name crops up and ignoring whatever Greg says next, but it's hard to ignore the pleased expression Greg wears the entire week, and the happy smile eats away at David. The understanding looks Jacqui and Bobby are constantly wearing don't help either. 

He contemplates not showing up at the bar that Friday, because he has the night off and suspects the temptation to drink himself to death might prove too great if he has to sit through a night of Annie, Benny, and Carl looking sympathetic. Still, habit is habit, and so he ends up there, sliding into the space next to Carl and curtly ordering a Black Russian before the cheery bartender can use the tired phrase of "Pick your poison." 

It takes him a moment to realize there's something different. David twists on his stool and raises an eyebrow at the arm Benny has casually draped around Annie's shoulders and the pale skin where Carl's wedding band used to be. "I didn't think you three would actually _listen_," he remarks, and they all chuckle. 

"What you said made sense," Annie says, and pauses. "Plus, I also caught Mark sleeping with our next-door neighbor. Our sixteen-year-old neighbor." 

"And the private detective's photos were very...damning," Carl adds with a sigh, and David doesn't blame him for already being on his third Amaretto Sour. He only wishes he were on his third Black Russian. "By the way, I did have a pre-nup." 

David accepts his Black Russian eagerly, and downs it in a few short gulps before he smirks and says, "Luckily for you. I doubt a counselor's salary would have looked pretty being split 50/50." 

"Don't remind me," Carl mutters, and they both flag down the bartender for another glass. 

He nurses his second glass, trying to stave off the temptation to drink five in short succession. He has already decided to get pleasantly buzzed, not wasted. Bad, bad things happen when he's wasted, and he's already had a bad enough week, thank you very much. David is so busy nursing his Black Russian that he doesn't catch Benny's "How's your week been?" and the other man has to repeat himself. David immediately frowns and mumbles something along the line of, "Fine." 

"You mean incredibly shitty?" Benny remarks, and then hesitates. "Look, my cousin's around your age, and he's a great guy--" 

"No. No playing matchmaker, Benny boy. If you suck at your own relationships, I shudder to think what anarchy you might cause if you try your hand at other people's relationships." 

Benny looks both irritated and amused at the same time, shrugging. "Was just a thought." 

"Obviously, I need to dissuade you from such an unhealthy habit as thinking," David deadpans, and finishes his second glass, automatically signaling for another one. 

He's just lifted his third glass to his lips when a familiar voice comments, "I didn't take you for a Black Russian sort of guy, Hodges," and he almost chokes. 

Twisting in his seat, he automatically arches an eyebrow and pastes on a smirk. "Really, Sanders? What did you think I drank? Blood?" 

Greg grins and flops casually onto the stool next to him. He is wearing a faded Metallica T-shirt and jeans that have seen better days, and his hair is the spikiest David's seen it in months. "Oh, I dunno, something like The Antichrist, maybe? The name certainly fits." He blinks and glances curiously at the trio, who is openly gawking at him, and offers them a friendly grin. "Greg Sanders, nice to meet ya. So you're Hodges' drinking buddies?" 

The three nod in unison, still staring, and David mentally groans; eventually one of them will recover enough to humiliate him. He begins talking before they have a chance to recuperate, waving the hand clutching the Black Russian towards each person as he names them. "Sanders, this is Annie, she works at one of the local elementary schools as a kindergarten teacher. That's Benny, he works as a talent agent. And the last guy is Carl, he's a high school counselor." 

At that, the trio finally blinks, and Benny begins to grin. "'Funtain' Guy!" he says, stretching out a hand past Carl and David to shake Greg's enthusiastically. "We've heard a _lot_about you." (David is going to cut out that man's tongue. Annie will just have to deal with having a tongue-less boyfriend.) 

Greg looks a little startled, and then grins, his gaze flickering around and finally settling on David. He bats his eyes and drawls, "Aw, Hodges, you've been talking about me? Only good things, I hope." 

"Very good things," Annie interjects, ever the helpful one, and David reminds himself to kill her later, as slowly and painfully as possible, even as he finishes off his third glass. It'll at least spare her the pain of having to deal with tongue-less Benny. 

"Like the time you wore that headdress and--" Carl begins, and David hastily cuts him off, trying to salvage what he can of the situation. 

"I tell horror stories of the graveyard shift. Naturally, the idea of you in a headdress is in the top ten," he informs the CSI, and Greg grins. 

"Hey, I have it on good authority that I looked damned fine in that headdress," he says, laughing, and then props his elbows on the counter as he signals for the bartender. The shift in his seat presses their knees against each other, and David suddenly forgets how to breathe and how to move; needless to say, their knees remain touching. "My dear barkeep, I'd like a margarita!" 

"And another Black Russian." David blinks a little in surprise. He wasn't planning on having a fourth one, not while Greg was so precariously close to him, but the order escapes his lips nonetheless. A thought occurs to him, then, and he frowns, tilting his head in Greg's direction. "Thought you were going out with Sara tonight." 

Greg looks sheepish. "Oh yeah, that. Uh, actually, she only agreed to go on the date to try and make Grissom jealous, and so there was no hope of a second date." 

David scowls darkly. How dare Sidle-- "She _used_ you, you mean." 

The CSI blinks. "Well, kinda, but I don't mind. I mean, it was fun. Besides, I didn't waste the full Greg Sanders experience on her, so it's all good." He smiles and nudges David with his elbow, and it's sad how it _should_ feel exactly the same as Benny nudging him but instead Greg's elbow sends an electric jolt through his entire body. 

David masks the shiver by rolling his eyes and heaving a sigh. "That is my trademark, Sanders, not yours. Hands off." Wrapping his fingers tightly around the fourth glass, he takes a long swallow. Over the rim of his drink, he watches as Greg tosses back the margarita and cannot help but appreciate the way Greg tilts his head back as he swallows, exposing his pale throat. He only realizes his watching could be construed as staring when Greg notices and offers him a lopsided smile (thankfully, the CSI doesn't comment). 

"Now me, I'm a margarita man, myself. Sucker for salt," Greg announces, and licks his lips for emphasis, making David suddenly think four Black Russians aren't going to be enough to get him through the night. 

"Remind me to pour salt in your Blue Hawaiian one day then." 

Greg looks horrified. "That's not even funny, Hodges. Blue Hawaiian is _sacred_." 

David finishes off his Black Russian, feeling the alcohol as a warmth that spreads through his frame and relaxes his tense muscles. When he smirks, he suspects the alcohol has softened it into something mildly amiable. Damn, the one negative side effect of alcohol. "Please tell me when you have a nightmare about your entire Blue Hawaiian supply being ruined by salt. My life will be complete." 

Greg pouts. "You wound me, Hodges, you really do." 

"Are you two _always_ like this?" 

David blinks and looks over at Carl, who is wearing a decidedly amused smile. Shit, he'd forgotten his drinking buddies even _existed,_ and suspects they realize that as Benny and Annie smirk. 

Greg, meanwhile, is looking puzzled. "Like what?" 

"Never mind," Carl says, and laughs, which just makes Greg look even more confused, which, admittedly is a good look on him, but then again, any expression looks good on Greg's face. 

He looks down, blinking when he realizes he's almost finished with his fourth drink. When did that happen? David stares at the near-empty glass, and then shrugs, swallowing the last of it. "I don't think Carl is used to watching such sharp-witted banter, Sanders," he says, and tries another smirk. Damn, this attempt feels even softer than the earlier one. "Even when the sharp wit _is_ only on one side." 

"_Again_ with the wounding, Hodges. Have you ever, I dunno, tried being nice?" 

David pretends to consider it, ignoring the trio's smirks as they watch the exchange of insults. "Well, there _was_ this time I asked an old woman if she needed help crossing the street...but then it turned out I had a fever and was delirious. Does that count?" 

Greg tilts his head and looks thoughtful. "No," he declares after a moment, and David tries for one last sarcastic grin (third time's the charm), but this smirk comes out more as an actual smile. Alcohol shouldn't betray him like this, damn it. 

He raises his glass to his lips, belatedly remembering that it's empty. Damn. He is severely tempted to have that fifth glass, but if four glasses have dulled his smirk, what will five glasses do to him? Biting back a sigh, he sets it down, and then lifts an eyebrow when Greg frowns. "Already having terrible daydreams about your ruined coffee, Sanders?" 

"How many of those have you had?" 

David rolls his eyes. "Well, let's see," he says with exaggerated slowness, jabbing a finger at the empty glasses. "One, two, three, four...I'm going to have to say: What is four?" 

Greg's frown deepens. "Do you, ah, usually drink this much?" 

"He's had a shitty week," Benny and Carl chime in together and grin when David shoots them a death-glare. 

"Oh." Greg blinks and then smiles crookedly. "Yeah, the cases were particularly gruesome this week, weren't they? Well, I mean, not really anymore than usual, but the one guy who collected human eyeballs? Definitely needed a better hobby." 

"...Can I just pipe in with a too much information?" Carl says, looking a little green, and David does a mental smirk since his actual ones aren't working very well. 

"You can, but that doesn't mean we'll change the subject," David informs him, and taps the counter idly with his knuckles, still feeling the warmth of Greg's knee against his own. The man really has no clue about personal space. He blinks, and shoots Greg a suspicious look. "Wait, how did you know I go here every Friday? And about my drinking buddies?"

Greg looks startled for a moment, and then shoots him a dazzling smile that makes his heart skip a beat. "Your favorite fingerprint tech, of course. Oh, and your favorite firearm tech." 

"Remind me to kill them both," David mutters, and is torn between mirth and displeasure when Greg laughs and nudges him again. 

"Aw, no love, Hodges. Don't blame Jacqui and Bobby for succumbing to my dazzling charm and spilling all." 

All? David can't help but blanch a little at that. Jacqui and Bobby better not have spilled all or he really _would_ have to kill them. Before Annie, Benny, and Carl. "Dazzling charm? In other words, you annoyed them until they knuckled under," he retorts dryly, and Greg grins. 

"Touche." The CSI tilts his head, suddenly, and looks momentarily...uncertain...which makes no sense at all because David hasn't said anything remotely confusing. "Did you drive here?" 

...Well, shit. "Yes," he admits after a moment. "Guess I'll have to call a cab." 

Greg perks up. "I can drive you home...if you trust me with your car." 

"Sanders, I don't trust you with my coffee mug." There is a pause, and a long look at Greg's guilty expression, and then David half-laughs, half-sighs. "You broke my coffee mug. The one my niece sent me from Seattle." 

The other man hangs his head, and David reminds himself to send his niece an email describing in detail what 'crazy Sanders' did to her mug. "So I maybe was juggling it and Nick's, and, uh, dropped them both, and your mug's handle kinda fell off. It did better than Nick's A &amp; M mug...." Greg pauses. "I just need to buy some Super glue...." 

Shaking his head, David reaches for his wallet and keys, tossing a few bills on the counter for the Black Russians and then the keys towards Greg, who looks startled. 

"Wait, you're actually going to let me drive?" 

David rolls his eyes. "If I leave my car here overnight, the hubcaps will be gone by the time I get back." An exaggeration, but Greg doesn't need to know that. He's not leaving Greg here with the evil trio. If even Jacqui and Bobby have fallen to Greg's charms, then there's no hope for Annie, Benny, and Carl. "Plus, I don't want to waste money on a taxi. My car's a Sentra." 

He is startled when Greg's entire face lights up like it's Christmas, and the other man leaps to his feet, offering him an elaborate bow. "The Greg Sanders chauffeur service is now open for business." Paying for his margarita, Greg smiles and pockets David's keys, and David suspects that the younger man would fight him for control of the car. "And if there is any sort of incident, let it be known the service does have insurance." 

"Insurance? Color me impressed," David drawls, and then gets to his feet. Or tries to. The Black Russians have gone to his head, apparently, and he wavers uncertainly for a moment. It's only the arm that Greg wraps around his waist that keeps him steady (and David suspects that is only because his entire body locks up). At last, he manages, mouth dry, "I can walk, you know." 

"Well, _I_ know that, but apparently your legs don't agree," Greg informs him cheerfully, and then nods towards Annie, Benny, and Carl. "It was nice meeting you three. Sorry about stealing him away." 

Annie smiles sweetly and says, voice dripping with innocence and therefore a million innuendoes, "Oh, you can steal him anytime," and David wonders who has been training her in the art of pure evil. He suspects Bobby. Bobby's got the 'looking innocent and as pure as the virgin snow but is secretly the devil' deal going on. 

Greg looks amused, tightening his grip around David's waist and making the technician's knees want to buckle from something definitely other than insobriety. "I'll keep that in mind." 

All three of them wave as Greg steers David towards the door, the younger man tantalizingly close to him. His arm is still around David's waist, and his spiky hair keeps brushing David's face, surprisingly soft for all the hair products he probably uses on the strands. He smells like oranges, and every time Greg turns to smile at him, David can smell a hint of lime on his breath. 

They are out the door and almost to his car when Greg speaks, tone too causal to be genuine. "You know, for being a genius, you're really not that smart." 

He blinks, and then tosses the other man's own words back at him as he tries to figure out what Greg could mean by that. "You wound me, Sanders, you really do. How, pray tell, am I not utterly brilliant?"

And then all brain functions ceases (he can hear Doc Robbins now: "COD: brain failure due to shock") as Greg pauses and leans in close so that his lips are almost touching David's ear. David's mouth is as dry as the Sahara as Greg murmurs, "When I told you that Sara was dating me to make Grissom jealous, did it cross your mind at _all_ that I might be trying to make someone jealous myself?" 

David stares, and finally sputters out a quiet, hoarse, "No" because the thought honestly never crossed his mind. He swallows, and meets the other man's gaze. Greg looks suddenly insecure. What, does Greg really think David is going to shoot him down? Is the man an _idiot_? Wait.... He offers Greg a tight-lipped smile. "So, how much did Bobby and Jacq actually spill?" 

Greg's blush is answer enough, and David will have to decide later whether to thank or physically maim his fellow lab rats. Right now, however, he has more pressing matters. Like putting a hand on the back of Greg's neck and yanking him into a kiss, for example. 

There is a second or two where Greg's lips remain lax against his and David's paranoia begins to stir and tell him he's miscalculated, but then the arm around his waist tightens, and Greg is kissing him back, which sends his paranoia packing. Greg's kisses are exactly as David has always imagined them to be -- sloppy, uncoordinated, over-eager, and yet somehow as hot as hell. David kisses him harder, tasting the salt and lime from Greg's margarita. He suspects that his kissing is equally messy but doesn't really care as Greg pins him against the side of his car--

"Ahem. _Ahem_." After a moment, Greg pulls away, and David levels a venomous look at the blonde who's interrupted them. Couldn't she see that they were a little _busy?_ The woman looks torn between amusement and annoyance. "Er, sorry to, ah, interrupt, but that's my car."

Greg blinks and then turns an accusing stare towards David. "You said it was the Sentra!" 

"It is a Sentra, just...not this one, apparently," David replies, flapping a lazy hand at the car he's still leaning against. He frowns at the color. Green? "Mine's blue. And has a spoiler." 

"I'm...sorry," Greg says apologetically to the woman, who looks more amused than annoyed now. "We'll just be, um, going...." Grabbing David's arm, the CSI drags him away, muttering under his breath, "Mine's frickin' blue, Greg, but I'm not going to mention that. Instead I'm going to scar some poor woman for life." 

"I think she was enjoying the show," David points out, and smirks at Greg's aggrieved look. "What?" 

"I...." Greg shakes his head, a grin spreading across his face as he reaches for David again, arm settling around him like it's always belonged there. Brushing a light kiss that still tastes of salt against David's cheek, he keeps smiling. "Nothing." He raises an eyebrow and comes to a stop in front of another Sentra. "Is this one actually yours?" 

David smirks but nods, and when Greg starts to turn and unlock the driver's door, he pounces and presses the CSI against his car, ignoring the startled squeak of surprise. “You know,” he murmurs, lips ghosting over the other man’s, “Sidle is going to try and _kill_ you if you get action because of the date and she doesn’t.” 

“Oh, you’ll protect me,” Greg says, breathless and eyes slightly unfocused. He manages an impish smile. “My knight in shining armor.” 

“If you call me that again, I’m throwing you to Sidle,” David warns him, and rolls his eyes, resisting the urge to smile as Greg grins broadly and says, “Aw, you love me too much to do that.” 

Instead, he smirks, closing the distance between their mouths, and kisses Greg mute.

 


End file.
